


Piangendo

by itsclppingbitch



Category: Cloud Atlas - All Media Types
Genre: I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT MUSIC YIKES, M/M, RIP IN PEACE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 20:40:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4235886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsclppingbitch/pseuds/itsclppingbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the first time Sixsmith hears Frobisher play to the last time.</p><p>This is 100% Everett's fault, I hope this makes you suffer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Piangendo

The first time he heard him play, he was nearly fifteen. Gresham was a lonely place for the boy who was more interested in science than most everything else. Until a boy with a thick, curly mop of dark brown hair set his sights on him. Rufus, of course, didn’t stand a chance against this boy’s charm and wit. He wasn’t interested in science, which immediately put Rufus off from him, but that didn’t deter the other. His name was Robert Frobisher, and though he didn’t like science, he was captivating. Within an hour of their initial meeting, Robert had taken Rufus’ hand and had pulled him along behind him, dragging him down to the music hall. Rufus had never been particularly interested in music. His mother had tried to force him into piano for a while, but it hadn’t been equations and formulas and Rufus had allowed it for all of a week before he’d given up entirely. He crinkled his nose as Robert sat him down on the bench before plopping down beside him. “Listen!” he exclaimed, and then he started to play.   
Rufus realized immediately that there was something incredibly special about this boy. He was a brilliant musician, and he couldn’t be older than Rufus himself. It wasn’t the song that was brilliant. It was a familiar tune, and not a particularly great one at that. But it was the way Robert played that caught Rufus’ attention. Though he closed his eyes while playing, they would blink open for just a moment, as if he were checking to make sure Rufus was still paying attention. It was the fire, the fierce passion in them that caused the elder to realize that Robert Frobisher was going to be famous one day. That he was going to be somebody big. He couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across his face as Robert stopped playing and the other boy turned to him. The look on Robert’s face was smug. “I thought you weren’t interested in music,” he grinned. Rufus just shrugged. “That was before I met you.” 

The thirteenth time he heard him play, he was studying for a biology test while Robert practiced in the background. He’d always preferred silence while he studied, but now he was mostly just happy to have Robert around. Honestly, he didn’t really mind the background noise anymore. He’d started to find it rather soothing. 

The twenty-sixth time he heard him play, Rufus was getting ready to head home for the summer. It was evening, and he’d just finished packing. With a heavy sigh, he headed to the music hall. Robert was playing a harsh, angry-sounding song. Rufus sat down beside him, staying quiet until the other stopped playing abruptly. “I don’t want to spend the summer without you,” Robert said, and Rufus was surprised by how tight the other’s voice was. His eyes were red-rimmed, and Rufus felt his heart breaking. He reached out, pulling the other close and holding him against his chest until someone came to retrieve Rufus to take him to his parents. “It’s only for the summer, Robert. I’ll see you again before you know it.” Robert’s sobs were a melody doloroso that stuck in his head for the duration of the holiday. 

The twenty-seventh time he heard him play, he only got to hear a few notes before Robert noticed the door had opened. He immediately flung himself at Rufus and the blond caught him, hugging him tightly. “And here I thought you’d have forgotten all about me,” he chuckled. Robert jabbed him harshly in the side. “Don’t be an ass, Rufus.” The pain from the jab was instantly alleviated by the sensation of Robert in his arms. It was in that moment, as he held Robert closed and stroked through his messy curls, that he realized he was bound to the other boy. There wasn’t a thought in his mind of science or… anything, really. Just Robert. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. 

The forty-second time he heard him play, he was supposed to be studying for a chemistry test. He was watching Robert’s fingers instead. 

The forty-seventh time he heard him play, he’d gone to the music hall to surprise Robert with a few sweets and to listen to him while he worked on homework. He glanced through the window as he reached for the knob and saw Robert sitting on the bench with another boy watching him, enraptured. Rufus felt ill. He went back to his room and locked the door. The wet patch that formed and spread on his pillow, a quiet duolo caused by Robert’s fingers, was his bittersweet epiphany. He was in love. 

The forty-eight time he heard him play, Robert had to all but drag him to the music hall with him. He played a quiet, solemn tune that Rufus hadn’t heard before. Robert stood when he finished, looking down at the other. “I wrote it for you.” He left immediately, before Rufus could reply. He stayed on the bench for a long time after Robert left. 

The sixtieth time he heard him play, it was because gentle fingers tapped him awake in the middle of the night. “Rufus, I can’t sleep. Come sit with me.” Rufus grumbled and got up slowly, following quietly along behind Robert. He sat down on the bench beside him and fell asleep to the sound of quiet notes drifting through his mind and a warm body pressed against his own. When he woke, Robert was leaning back against him, fingers still against the keys as he slept. Rufus smiled and carefully lifted him, taking him back to his room and tucking him in before returning to his own bed. 

The seventy-third time he heard him play, it was on a violin. Rufus didn’t think Robert had ever looked more beautiful than he did right then, head tilted to expose his neck, forearm muscles straining as he pulled a beautiful melody from the instrument. It was springtime and Rufus didn’t want the season to end. When he finished, Robert reached up to push Rufus’ hair back from his forehead. “Our summer holiday is to Corsica this year. I’m allowed to bring a friend.” Rufus blurted out a hasty ‘yes’ before Robert had finished the last word. He was certain his parents wouldn’t mind. 

The eighty-sixth time he heard him play, they were in Corsica. There wasn’t a piano in the villa they were staying in, so Robert had brought his violin. It was early in the morning and they’d gone out to the beach so as not to disturb the rest of the house. They stripped down to their pants and waded out to their knees, Robert improvising a haunting melody that would play in the back of Rufus’ mind every time he visited a beach until the end of his days.

The eighty-eighth time he heard him play was the next evening. Robert had taken his violin and had crawled up to the roof of the villa. Rufus, of course, had followed. They sat there, Robert playing a distracted tune, a far away look in his eyes that told Rufus he wasn’t focused on the music. “What is it?” he asked quietly, his head tipping back to look up at the stars when he didn’t receive an immediately reply. Robert stopped playing and set his violin off to the side carefully before putting one hand on Rufus’ cheek, turning his head towards him. There was a long moment where they just stared at each other, and then Robert leaned in, kissing him gently. Rufus went still for a moment, and then his arms were wrapping around Robert’s waist, pulling him into his lap and kissing him back. They stayed like that for the rest of the night, holding each other and kissing under the Corsican stars, the violin forgotten beside them. 

The two hundred and fourth time he heard him play, they were getting ready to go to Caius. Robert, musical prodigy that he was, had finished his studies a year early, so they were going together. Rufus was elated. He was humming some kind of melody slowly to himself when Rufus entered his room, writing down a composition. He stopped when he heard the door, and turned, grinning up at Rufus. “Was hoping you’d come by before they kicked us out,” he greeted him. Rufus collapsed on the bed beside him and Robert immediately crawled on top of him, kissing him passionately. His hands slid down to Rufus’ waistcoast a moment later and he pulled back, eyebrows raised. Rufus grinned up at him and gave a nod, situating himself more comfortably on the bed. The two of them sent papers fluttering to the ground as they undressed each other, but Robert’s normally precious music was the last thing in his mind. The only music was the symphony the sounds of their bodies against each other as they played out their prima volta. It was sweet, innig. But nach und nach belebter und leidenschaftliche, until it was a sforzando, focoso al fine. 

 

The four hundred and fifty first time he heard him play, it was Frobisher’s last night at Caius. He’d been disowned by his family. He’d lost everything. He put aside his violin when Sixsmith came in and pressed into him, crying silently into his shoulder. “I’ll miss you,” he whispered. “I don’t know what I’m to do. I have nowhere to go, Sixsmith. I’ve lost nearly all of my money.” Sixsmith sighed gently, stroking his hair. “You know I’ll-“ “I don’t want handouts, Sixsmith, don’t be an ass.” The corner of the elder’s lip pulled up at that. “I appreciate the offer, though. You’re a good man. It’s why I love you.” He lifted his head to kiss him gently. “I’ll find my way. Try not to worry too much about me, mother hen.” He chuckled at that. “I’ll do my very best, Robert.” The other smiled. “And don’t you forget about me.” Sixsmith’s smile fell and his expression turned solemn. “I could never,” he assured him. “My Robert. You’re going to be amazing. They’ll play your symphonies hundreds of the years in the future.” Frobisher rolled his eyes. “Of course they will, flatterer.” Sixsmith smiled faintly, kissing him again. They spent their last night together making love, memorizing each other. In the morning, Sixsmith kissed him goodbye and watched him leave, his throat tight and eyes moist. 

The four hundred and fifty second time he heard him play, they rendezvoused six months later at a hotel they’d snuck into. Robert’s idea, obviously. Robert hummed his most recent compositions to Sixsmith, showing him the movements. “They’re utter garbage, Sixsmith. I can’t figure out how to get them right. I hope I’m not losing my touch already. Twenty-three and already washed up. I’d rather throw myself into the Thames, honestly.” Sixsmith frowned. “Don’t give me that look, Rufus. If I don’t have my music, what do I have?” he murmured. He silenced Sixsmith’s protest with a kiss, and Frobisher made love to him to assuage the man. It did little to help, but he felt content in the moment, with Frobisher’s chest pressed against his back, that mess of curls tickling the back of his neck as they drifted off. Robert was gone too quickly the next morning, with Sixsmith’s waistcoat accentuating his natural beauty. The blond stayed behind to do damage control, paying the hotel managers handsomely, before returning to the room to press his nose into the pillow, breathing in the faint scent Robert had left behind. 

The four hundred and fifty third time he heard him play, it was only one note. A staccato, a sound Sixsmith had been fearing since the hotel. When he finally washed the blood off of his hands, he took Robert’s ring and slipped it onto his own finger. He took Robert’s cigarettes as well, if only to have something that made up the scent of his lover. He began to associate music with the smell of blood, with the feeling of hot liquid and brain matter on his hands. He didn’t listen to music much after that. 

The four hundred and fifty fourth time he heard him play, it wasn’t really him. His music, of course. The Cloud Atlas Sextet. He’d bought a copy and had listened to it once, all the way through. He never touched it again. Would have sounded better live, with Robert by his side. 

The last time he heard him play, it wasn’t his Robert’s music, but his voice. Sixsmith knew, of course, that giving the report to Luisa would be the death of him. He didn’t mind. It had never gotten easier. Forty-one years, and he still ached for Robert everyday. When Bill Smoke came for him, Sixsmith gasped, not out of shock, but because he could hear Robert calling him back to Corsica. Finally.


End file.
